


Who IS Hercules, This Time Around?

by RevDorothyL



Series: Not-So-Blithe Spirits [3]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RevDorothyL/pseuds/RevDorothyL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 3rd story in this series (really a companion piece to "Apocalypse, Now and Then"), focusing on two different suggestions I received from readers as to who the current incarnation of Hercules should be in the Buffyverse.</p><p>Choose the version that works best for you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "The Trouble with Archangels"

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is dedicated to fanfiction.net reviewer _Smallville-HarryPotterfan13_ , who suggested a rather different Buffyverse identity for the Hercules whom we grew to know and love in the **_Hercules/Xena_** pantheon. 
> 
> The plot-bunny for this particular alternative-AU installment hopped so far into the ‘fluff zone’ that I don’t think it’s ever coming back, so consider yourself warned. :)
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : As usual, I own nothing and make no profit from playing with these characters. Any theological implications from this work should not necessarily be taken at face value. Readers are advised to consult the religious professional of their choice before trying this theology at home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While riding to Angel's rescue, Faith is waylaid by a heavenly messenger with a good news/bad news kind of deal. It's going to be one of THOSE nights . . . (Alternate sequel to "Apocalypse, Now and Then")

> _**Spirits when they please  
>  Can either sex assume, or both. **  
>  John Milton, Paradise Lost. Book i. Line 423._

* * *

The trouble with archangels – thought Faith, the Vampire Slayer, as she brought her motorcycle to a screeching halt in the middle of a Los Angeles street a few blocks from the Hyperion Hotel – is that they only seemed to show up on the mortal plane at the most **_in_** convenient of times.

For instance, when you open up the Hellmouth and take on an army of primeval vamps and the freakin' **_First Evil_** with only a handful of Potential Slayers and some normal humans with more guts than brains for back-up, does anybody with wings and a flaming sword show up to lend a hand?

Nope. Not a chance. No _effing_ way.

But when you're racing to try and save the lives (or _un_ -lives, as the case may be) of some less-normal friends (also possessed of more guts than brains . . . both of which were likely to be splattered all over the city pretty soon, if they weren't already), **_who_** shows up to block your way, carrying a sword and glowing at you in a disapproving way like you're _effing_ Balaam riding on a motorized donkey and up to no damn good?

Why, an archangel, of course!

And a suspiciously familiar-looking archangel, at that.

Not pausing to wonder how the heck she happened to recognize an archangel (as opposed to any other kind of angelic being), much less how she came to find this particular archangel so familiar in appearance, Faith strode toward the winged figure with stake in hand, exuding as much menace as she could under the circumstances and trying not to think about how much better she'd feel if she had the Scythe with her just then. She bet that the Scythe could do a great job at slicing and dicing the odd archangel, if need be.

But that particular Slayer weapon was currently with Buffy on the other side of the Atlantic, along with the rest of the reinforcements who were waiting for a mass-teleport from Willow. So, for the moment, Faith was on her own and making do with what she had. Just like old times.

Faith really _hated_ 'old times.'

Speaking of which, . . . .

"Yo! Bible-Boy!" she yelled, as politely as possible. "You wanna get yerself and yer obvious overcompensation outta my freakin' way?" She was especially proud of the 'overcompensation' comment about his weapon of choice and only wished Robin could be present to hear how her insults had improved over the past year. "I got places to be and people to save . . . not that _you_ 'd know anything about that!"

The archangel in front of her actually had the nerve to _smile_ , then, and Faith was gearing up to kick his smarmy, actually-holier-than-thou teeth in when – faster than the human or even the Slayer eye could follow – he reached out and placed his hand over hers where it clutched the stake, saying, "Peace, Faith. Your friends are safe, for the most part, and the battle's been won. Be at peace."

The moment that the archangel Michael's hand touched hers, Faith's head almost exploded with memories from more than a score of previous lifetimes, including her first lifetime, when she'd been known as her people's champion, the hero to inspire all heroes, the demigod whose journeys through the world in search of good to do would become legendary . . . .

Faith couldn't help but say the first words that came to her mind after the initial head rush had passed: "Whoah! Even as a dude I had a spectacular chest on me!" And then, "Hercules? I was freakin' _Hercules_? No way, man! I mean, . . . seriously?"

"Seriously, Herc," replied Michael, trying to keep a straight face and mostly succeeding. He couldn't help it – Hercules was sometimes a lot more entertaining to deal with in this incarnation, for all his/Faith's tortured past and rocky path, and she/he certainly had a unique style of speech this time around. "In the words of your most recent persona, 'I shit you not.'"

Faith drew herself up to her full height, which (even with an assist from the killer heels on her biker boots) was far short of the physical stature she'd once enjoyed as Hercules, but still managed to give the impression that she was looking _down_ on the much larger archangel, as she solemnly warned him, "If this is a ruse to keep me from helping my friends before it's too late, Michael, there won't be anyplace in heaven or on earth that you can run to and be safe from my wrath." 

Then Faith grinned with a touch of her own menace as well as Herc's patented 'I'm-a-really-nice-guy-with-super-strength-but-don't-press-your-luck-too-far-or-I'll-kick-you-into-low-earth-orbit' smile, as she added, "Just so we're clear. 'A vague disclaimer,' and all that."

"No ruse," Michael promised. "No half-truths or deceptions for the sake of the greater good, or anything like that – not this time around. You have my word as an archangel on that.

"I just stopped by to set your mind at ease, Hercules – or Faith, if you prefer. The battle's been won, the latest apocalypse averted, and Angel, Spike, and Gunn survived, so you don't have to worry." 

Michael paused, and then continued, speaking at a slightly faster speed than she'd ever heard from him before - very different from his usual, extremely deliberate and more than slightly condescending manner when addressing mortals. "And I also wanted to sort of warn you that your half-brother Ares may need some extra help getting his head back on straight in days to come, now that Angel's unconscious mind has been reminded of who he used to be. But since you volunteered to be reborn this time around mainly in hopes of being able to aid Ares on his road to redemption (as well as lend Xena a helping hand, if the occasion should arise), I'm sure you won't mind that a bit. Okay, bye now, gotta fly."

Faith/Hercules glared at the space where Michael had been standing before the big chicken had dematerialized his sorry butt back to heaven, without giving her the chance to lay even one punch on him for dumping her back into this family mess.

If Michael had said or done _anything_ to throw Ares/Angel back into full-on brood mode, she swore she'd have her pound of flesh (or feathers – she didn't really care which) out of his angelic hide. No matter what happened, she vowed, there was no way she was going back into Angel/Angelus’ mind on another drug-inspired mystical vision quest to drag his head out of his butt again after this -- not with dear brother Ares' memories so fresh in his unconscious again. 

She _really_ felt the need to hit somebody right now, and it didn't look like she'd get the chance, if the fighting was really all over for the moment.

"Very **DISAPPOINTED**!" she yelled at the night sky, sounding more than a little like her alternate universe counterpart, the Sovereign.

That was the _real_ trouble with archangels, she thought to herself: they were never around to pound on when you needed them . . . .

* * *


	2. "What Are Old Friends For?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Connor's side of 'what happened next?' at the end of the final AtS episode "Not Fade Away" -- as seen through a rather _Hercules: The Legendary Journeys_ -tinted lens (the OTHER alternative sequel/companion piece to "Apocalypse, Now and Then").

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : This story contains some references to possible romantic entanglements between souls that were once close blood relatives in former lifetimes. Don’t read if that will disturb you.

>   
> **Angel** : What the hell are you doing here?  
>  **Connor** : Come on. You drop by for a cup of coffee, and the world's _not_ ending? Please.

* * * *

>   
> **Angel** : Go home...now.  
>  **Connor** : They'll destroy you.  
>  **Angel** : As long as you're OK, they can't. Go.

Connor Reilly was a well-adjusted and mild-mannered Stanford University student, raised by a loving family in the suburbs. His memories of growing up were mostly good ones.

On the other hand, Connor also happened to remember being the super-powered son of two vampires, born to fulfill a prophecy but kidnapped and raised in a hell dimension by a vengeful fanatic from the 18th century who hated his father – a vampire with a soul, known as Angel. 

He’d be the first to admit that living with two sets of memories made for a complicated young adulthood, but by and large he felt he’d managed the two sides of himself pretty well. He treasured the gentle, confident, sunny disposition that he’d gotten from his suburban family, along with a first-rate education and every opportunity to excel. But he also appreciated the sacrifices that his birth father Angel had made for the sake of his sanity and soul, and the example Angel had set by giving him up in order to save him. 

Plus, it certainly didn’t _suck_ to have the super-powers and fighting skills of his old “Destroyer” persona to rely on, should the world suddenly need saving for some reason . . . or, say, in the unlikely event that his birth father decided to pick a fight that was way above his weight class and then needed some enhanced back-up to keep him from getting totally pulverized in the ‘Battle Against Evil.’ 

That ‘unlikely event’ (that his vampire father would show more balls than brains and rush in where even real angels might legitimately fear to tread) was what had brought Connor to downtown Los Angeles a short while ago, trying to save Angel just this once, as a gesture of appreciation for all that Angel had done to save him. Connor was a young man with a plan.

But, predictably, things hadn’t gone exactly according to plan. Though Connor had been able to distract Marcus Hamilton for a crucial moment, giving Angel a brief reprieve in that mismatched fight, it was Angel who had done most of the work, and only Angel’s vampire nature that had allowed him to use Hamilton’s own borrowed power against him.

Then his birth father told him that the best way Connor could help was by saving himself, while Angel’s world literally crumbled around them and the vampire himself had that “no chance I’ll survive but I’ll go down swinging” look on his face.

Which explained why Connor was currently watching from a safe distance – as requested – while the building which housed the main offices of Wolfram and Hart in L.A. finished becoming a giant pile of rubble. 

Meanwhile, some instinct was pulling him in the direction of Angel’s old headquarters at the Hyperion Hotel. It seemed that one of those enhanced senses of his felt he’d want to know about a major supernatural slug-fest going down within easy running distance (for someone with his speed and endurance, that is), in case he should be inclined to join in. 

The part of him that remembered his nightmare days as “The Destroyer” was pushing him to go and investigate – especially since it was a safe bet that the battle he sensed was Angel making his Last Stand. But the greater part of him, which would always be “Connor Reilly, Genuinely Good Guy,” held him back, reminding him that Angel’s peace of mind and ability to give his best to the fight ahead was dependent on his belief that Connor would live, well away from what was going down.

Still, it seemed to require all Connor’s resolve and courage to stay where he was, not to take that next step closer to the Hyperion, and then the step after that . . . .

“Hey, there, buddy!”

Connor’s whole attention was suddenly claimed by a cheerful, short-ish, thirty-ish, blond man with **_lots_** of hair -- and an odd taste in crocheted sweater vests -- who was standing directly in front of him, blocking his most direct path to the Hyperion, and . . . GLOWING?! 

Yes, there was definitely far more light shining around this man than could be accounted for by anything in their immediate surroundings. 

Huh.

“Not to be rude, or anything,” Connor cautiously replied, “but do I know you?”

“Sure you do, buddy!” the blond man replied with no discernible dimming of either his good cheer or his persistent glow. “It’s just been a while, that’s all. If you think back –right NOW – I’m sure it’ll all come back to you.”

Connor’s eyes slammed shut and his head jerked back, as though he’d been punched in the face by someone strong enough to make it count, as his mind was suddenly filled with still another set of memories – this time, a whole lifetime’s worth, and then some. He just had time to think, ‘Here we go again!’ before his strong survival instinct urged him to just let the memories sort themselves while he focused on the possible physical threat in the here and now.

He quickly opened his eyes, finding the other man had moved no closer, but was still standing there with a beaming smile and eyes that were . . . . damn it! Those eyes were actually twinkling at him. Connor had never before seen quite such literal twinkling, and on some level he thought this ought to be creeping him out much more than it was. 

All Connor could think to say, though, was, “I kind of hate it when that happens – you know, the whole memory overload thing . . . .”

And then, “Iolaus?”

Followed by, “Hey, old friend! How long has it been?”

Iolaus – for Connor knew without a doubt that this was the other man’s name – just beamed and twinkled even harder, if possible, as he answered, “Hiya, Herc! It’s been less than twenty years this time, and you’ve still got a lot more years ahead of you (we think), but Michael gave me one-time-only opportunity to come down and chat with you mid-incarnation, in light of the Very Special Circumstances taking place right now.”

Connor Reilly suddenly realized that he was a very small part of a very long series of different heroic lifetimes, stretching all the way back to the legendary Hercules – a guy who, by the way, had known a thing or two about living with a dual nature, never entirely fitting in with either gods or mortals, but who had managed to make a rich, rewarding life for himself in the mortal world, through generous applications of grace and kindness (as well as his enormous, super-powered biceps and all those other physical assets, of course!).

And Hercules also knew Iolaus, his oldest and truest friend, and over the millennia had gained at least a passing acquaintance with the archangel Michael, so he had to take a half step back and ask:

“What kind of ‘Very Special Circumstances’ are we talking about, Iolaus? The kind that are likely to promote my father – well, _one_ of my fathers in this lifetime – from 'un-dead' to just plain 'dead'? In the full-on, ‘dust to dust’ sense of the word ‘dead’? Is that why you’re here, now?” 

Iolaus was tempted to try to stall, perhaps by commenting on the fact that Hercules now sounded half like his old self and half like young Connor, but he knew that would do nothing to calm his best friend, and Iolaus needed Hercules very calm indeed for this next part. “It’s not quite what you’re thinking, Herc. Yes, Angel’s battle against the demonic forces of the Senior Partners **_is_** the reason I’m here. But no, it’s _**not**_ because Angel is doomed to fall in that battle tonight and I’m somehow supposed to make sure he doesn’t take you down with him. 

“You see, Angel and his friends won’t be facing those hordes of hell alone. Instead, because Angel managed to provoke the Senior Partners into breaking the rules and importing so many of their forces from other dimensions, Michael and quite a few of _**his**_ friends will be joining the party. They’ve actually been looking forward to this for a long time, since they rarely get to do physical battle on earth anymore.”

Iolaus could see the beginning of hope and a surprisingly deep sense of relief on Connor/Hercules’ face. After all, Herc had very personal and up-close experience with the kind of wallop that Michael could pack when coming up against mere demigods and even full gods (he had to give Ares credit for at least _trying_ to be helpful that time) here on earth. Taking this as the encouraging sign that it was, Iolaus continued.

“The truth is that tonight’s battle was never meant for you, for Connor. He . . . YOU have a number of battles yet to fight, but tonight was a test meant for Angel, and a chance to set him more firmly on the right path. In order to make it through tonight, Angel can’t be distracted by worrying about you, no matter how hard you can hit and be hit without breaking.”

Iolaus paused to let all of those revelations fully sink in, and then explained, “Knowing your soul was in Connor, I knew that he/you would never be able to stay away when there was a major battle for the fate of the world taking place, and that if there was any way to get through the dimensional barrier now surrounding that battle in order to jump right into the middle of it, he/you would find that way. That’s what I told Michael, and that’s why he made sure that I was given a chance to talk you out of it.”

Iolaus hesitated for a moment, but then couldn’t resist adding, “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to talk you out of doing something dumb!” He laughed and easily ducked the mock-punch that Connor/Hercules threw at his shoulder. 

“I think your memory must be failing you in your old age, Iolaus. I seem to recall that you were the one who had the dumb ideas,” Hercules replied, “and I was the one having to talk you out of throwing yourself headlong into every battle.”

Iolaus chuckled. “That’s pretty low, Herc – using the fact that you’re currently a _teenager_ to call me ‘old.’ Do you even need to shave, yet? Perhaps I should get you some warm milk and a blankie, considering that it must be way past your bedtime.”

“Oh, that’s _real_ funny, Iolaus.” But Connor/Hercules couldn’t keep from smiling – Iolaus always had that effect on him.

Both men suddenly became more serious as the glow around Iolaus’ body seemed to flicker – which they knew was fully intended to serve the same general purpose as a parent flicking the porch light on and off to warn their son or daughter to finish saying ‘good-night’ and come inside before they broke curfew. 

“I guess it’s time for you to go,” Hercules said, managing to keep his voice from betraying most of his grief at having to wait an unknown number of years before being reunited with his friend in heaven again.

Iolaus nodded, his own grief mitigated by his current blessed state of existence in heaven, but still not eliminated altogether. Then he smirked, as some part of the spirit of mischief which had led his alternate universe counterpart to become a court jester inspired him to leave Hercules with a parting ‘gift.’ 

This was the sort of thing that Michael would have explicitly forbidden Iolaus to mention (if the archangel had thought about it at all), because Michael knew that even on the heavenly plane human souls still tended to cling to their past identities and past relationships, sometimes at the expense of moving on and doing the work they needed to do in their next incarnation. It was standard policy not to _offer_ information about what familiar souls one might encounter in one's next life, though the non-human residents of heaven wouldn't hesitate to truthfully answer direct questions on that subject.

“By the way, Herc," Iolaus began, "when you volunteered for this gig on earth, did Michael ever mention whose soul your vampire father currently had? I mean, in a way it’s a nice kind of symmetry, keeping it all in the family, as it were.”

“Iolaus . . . !” Connor/Hercules’ voice carried a stern note of warning, now. “Since you’re dying to tell me -- or would be, if you weren’t . . . what you currently are! – why don’t you just go ahead and say it? Who did Angel’s soul used to be?”

“Oh, just your dear half-brother, Ares.”

The look on Connor/Hercules’ face was everything Iolaus could have hoped for. One thing for sure: Herc was no longer thinking about how much he was going to miss Iolaus. Instead, he seemed to be thinking—

“ _Ares_ is my _FATHER_?! What did I do to deserve that?” As Iolaus started to become less substantial, Hercules called out to him, “Tell Michael that the next time I see him I’m gonna kick his ass, wings or no wings!”

Iolaus nodded, but couldn’t resist getting the last word in – especially since in a few more minutes Connor wouldn’t consciously remember any of this, and surely Herc would have had time to cool off by the time he returned to heaven in another four score years or so? 

“Look on the bright side, Herc: aren’t you kind of glad you _didn’t_ know that Cordelia's soul was once that of your half-sister Aphrodite, twenty or so incarnations ago?”

And with that, he faded from sight before Connor's voice could finish yelling, “Ewww! Don’t even go there, Iolaus! Remember, I know where you live!”

Connor Reilly looked around in sudden puzzlement. What had he been doing, just a moment ago?

Oh, yes, he’d been resisting the temptation to go after Angel, in spite of what his birth father had asked of him. 

Somehow, he no longer felt that pull to run and join the battle, though. 

In fact, if he had to put a name to what he was feeling right at that moment, he’d call it ‘being at peace.’ 

Huh.

Angel was doing what he had to do, Connor reminded himself, and judging by the fact that the entire city wasn’t yet engulfed in flames, there was a good chance that things had gone better than expected.

Meanwhile, Connor had his own responsibilities, including keeping his loving family safe from the supernatural world (whenever possible) and keeping up his grades so that he could make Angel _and_ the Reillys proud by graduating at least _magna cum laude_ from Stanford in a few more years.

It was time for Connor Reilly to go back to work, doing what he does best: living a full, interesting, generous life, using the advantages from his unusual parentage to help make this world a better place. 

Because that’s what champions of his kind are for.

 

**THE END _(-ish)_**


End file.
